LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



UNITED STATKS OP AMEllICA. 



COUNT JULIAN 



a ^pani0]^ CragcD^ 



BY 



JULIAN STURGIS 




BOSTON Z^^^N 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY ' "^ 

1893 



/ 



\- 






Copyright, 1893, 
By Julian Sturgis. 



All Acting rights reserved. 



John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

Dox Roderick, Last Visigoth King oj Spain. 

Count Juliax. 

Martixez. 

Diego, his friend and follower. 

Carlos, ) 

|- Comrades of the King. 
Ferdixaxd, ) 

A Moorish Messexger. 

The Queex. 

Florixda, Daughter of Count fulian. 

Xariea, a waiting-woman. 

Courtiers, Moorish soldiers, Queen's ladies, ^c. 



Act I. 
SPRING. 



COUNT JULIAN. 



Act I. 
SPRING. 



Scene. — A Place of Anns in the Palace of 
Roderick, King of Spain. Martinez is 
alone. To him enters DiEGO. 

Martinez. 
Well? Has he come? 

Diego. 
Most noble Don Martinez, Count Julian hath 
this instant arrived at court. By Herc'les' 
might, I am well content that I shall see this 
potent count! 

Martinez. 
Ah ! One stout fellow loves to look on 
another. 



8 COUNT JULIAN act i 

Diego. 
'T is true, i' faith ; and this is a gallant cap- 
tain indeed ; and while he draws breath this 
land of Spain is safe. 

Martinez. 

With him and thee we may sleep safe o' 
nights. 

Diego. 

Now I suspect that thou dost jest with me. 
I cannot tell — I cannot say — I have not had 
the chances of this Count Julian. I will not 
say but that if — by the Mass, I have done 
some deeds! — but we should see. I cannot 
abide boasting, but we should see — 

Martinez. 
Matter most wonderful. For me, I would 
thou hadst twice the strength of Count Julian, 
and that thy potent sword were up to the hilt in 
his most valiant carcass. 

Diego. 
Thou dost not like the count? 



act i a spax/sii tragedy g 

Martinez. 
Do I like death — death, or the devil? 

Diego. 
Why, that I cannot tell, i' faith. Has he 
done thee some notable wrong? 

Martinez. 

'T is an old family feud, Diego; a fine 'old 
history writ in red, all murders and flames of 
fire; a game at which we had ever the worst. 
My grandsire — rest his soul ! — was hacked to 
pieces on the road. My father was flung to a 
dungeon till he grew blind for want of light and 
mad for want of company ; and so he was let 
loose by this Julian, when he came to his 
heritage. 

Diego. 

That was a good deed at least. 

Martinez. 
I hate him the more for it. It was the fine 
flower of his scorn. How should we hurt him, 
bond or free, we who were grov/n so weak? 



lO COUNT JULIAN act i 

I am too weak to be his enemy, and so the 
great Count JuHan and I are friends. 

Diego. 

And all ends well. 

Martinez. 
All is not ended yet. Trusty Diego, there is 
no foe like a friend. Why, your open, thick- 
pate enemies almost love each other for their 
stout buffets. Most heartily do they knock 
each other on the empty brain-pan. What 
would this one do if he had not that other to 
fight withal? He would go hang himself for 
want of work. God grant me foes, say I ! — 
But to be a friend ! That is, to smile, and to 
come softly, and to profess love, and to wait, 
though it be for years, till chance show you the 
one weak spot in the armour of proof, and 
then — and then — 

Diego. 
Why, then the dagger ! 



ACT I A SPAiV/S// TRAGEDY n 

Martinez. 
No. For with every smile there grows up 
such a hatred in the heart as no mere dagger 
thrust will satisfy. Your friend must bleed in 
the heart, and yet not die. Julian and I are 
friends. 

Diego. 
Heaven keep me from such friendship ! 

Martinez. 
I have another friendship for thee, my gallant 
Diego. Do I not lay bare the very core of my 
heart to thee? 

Diego. 
And thou dost well, i' faith. I am no braggart 
and babbler: I am a true man. 

Martinez. 
Aye, thou art a true man. And moreover, 
thou art known for such an arrant knave that, 
didst thou ever accuse me of aught, there 's not 
a soul in court or camp but would call thee liar. 
That the gentle Martinez should be accused 
by such a rogue and profligate — Martinez, the 



12 COUNT JULIAN act i 

noble heart who has ended an ancient family 
feud — Martinez, the trusted friend and sworn 
brother of our brave young king, Don Roderick 
— why, I tell thee, man, that honest folk, in 
spite of all my prayers and tears in thy behalf, 
would hale thee out by the ears, and nail them 
to the palace wall. 

Diego. 
Thou knowest I am true to thee. 

Martinez. 
I know thou art true, and know thou wilt be 
true. Lend me thine ear. 

Diego. 

Ah! 

Martinez. 

I do but wish to whisper in thine ear. What 

think'st thou of Don Roderick the king? 

Diego. 
What should I think? 

Martinez. 
Dost think him safe on the throne? 



act i a spa. vis h tragedy 13 

Diego. 
Is he not safe? 

Martinez. 

Aye, surely he is safe ! 
The late king dead, and hated ere he died: 
The new king brave and beautiful and young, 
That saved us from the lust and cruelties 
Of him that went before — a proper man, too, 
A mighty swordsman, and can fling his axe 
Further than any man at court, and leap 
With all his armour on his armoured steed : 
A pretty smile, too, and a pretty leg, 
A very pretty king for holidays. 
Aye, surely he is safe ! 

Diego. 

Long live the king ! 

Martinez. 

A very proper saying ! He can laugh, too, 

And jest, and has hot blood i' the veins, and 

walks 
With a fine carriage and a roving air, 
To make all women love him save the queen. 



14 count julian act i 

Diego. 
Does not the queen love him? 

Martinez. 
Thou art newly come to court ! Hast never 
heard that our good king — heaven bless him! 
— has married for policy, and married a royal 
robe and a circlet of gems? 

Diego. 
And naught beside? 

Martinez. 
Naught but a parcel of fantastical moods, 
and a love of reading the moon and of the lay- 
ing out of gardens. Find her a new measure 
for singing her praises or a new fashion for 
tying her hair, and for all your oaths and your 
drunkenness you are a made man. You may 
sit sighing at her long feet with her poet and 
her hair-dresser, and have the private key of 
the most exquisite sweet garden, wherein the 
Barbary ape takes his ease. 



ACT I A SFAAVS// TRAGEDY jc 

Diego. 
i\\\<\ what if being there with the Barbary 
ape and the hair-dresser I should whisper to 
our gracious lady what the gentle Martinez has 
spoken of his queen? By Herc'les' might — 
Na)', I did but jest; thou knowest I am true to 
thee, that I am thine till — 

Martinez, 
Till I slit thy throat and fling thy carcass to 
the crows. Nay, sweet Diego, I did but jest 
in turn. I love thee. But hush ! Here comes 
the king brawling, at sword-play with young 
Ferdinand — Ha, a good blow! A king of 
the guard-room ! Look you to what a fine 
fantastical swordsman we must bend our backs. 
Lower, my burly knave ! Bend thy stout back 
to breaking, an thou wouldst rise at court. 
Pliant of back and sweet of tongue must be 
the courtier. 

Enter RODERICK and Ferdinand with swords 
— Carlos and others. 

Roderick. 

Martinez, we have missed thee from our side. 



1 6 COUNT JULIAN act i 

We have been out in the air and fed our 

hawks, 
And gone a-laughing in the morning hght 
With spring time in our blood. What hind 

would sleep 
This morn of May that wakes the lagging 

year? 
Laggard and lie-a-bed ! I tell thee, man, 
Thou must not mope in halls and passages 
When we go maying. 

Martinez. 
My most gracious liege ! 
I have no wish but to be near thee ever, 
To see our Christian champion ride the ring, 
To hear his laughter in the laughing light. 
To feed from his royal hand with happy birds. 

Roderick. 
Thou shalt have better than hawks' food : on 

my life 
I wish this merry morning of the Spring 
We might forget our kingship and go forth. 
Two trusty friends, upon the common road 



ACT I A SPAAVS/I TRAGEDY ly 

To meet some wild adventure: I dare swear 
We 'd beat some lusty robber to his den. 
Or save a damsel bound beneath an oak, 
Or scare a friar from his mule. 

Martinez. 
My liege ! 

Hast thou forgot Count Julian is at court, 
And claims an audience? 

Roderick. 
Aye, the count has come — 
A mighty man — but look you, friend Martinez, 
Hast seen this stroke of mine? My Ferdinand, 
Look to thyself and guard th}' head from 
harm ! \_Sivoj'd-play. 

Martinez. 
A master-stroke ! But I entreat my liege, 
When will he see Count Julian, when and where? 

Roderick. 
Why, now and here ! What place more fit to 

greet 
A mighty warrior than our place of arms? 

2 



1 8 COUNT JULIAN act i 

And he shall see my sword-play: Look you 

now, 
Thus do I bear my point. 

Martinez. 
And the queen, sire? 

Roderick. 
What of the queen? 

Martinez. 
Will the queen deign to come? 

Roderick. 
Perchance — I know not — Send and ask our 

queen 
To grace us here. (^Exejint servants.') Indeed, 

she should be here, 
Not dallying, as she loves, on pleasant lawn, 
By murmurous fountain lulled or amorous lay, 
Nor binding and unbinding her long hair 
Among her women — she should be here, I 

say, 
With us to welcome our most noble knight, 



ACT I A SPANISH TRAGEDY 



19 



First lance in Spain — but stay! this count and 

thou, 
Or old tales lie, have little cause for love. 

Martinez. 
Sire, the count's race and mine were deadly 

foes; 
Thou knowest and I know ; but I protest, 
Since for thy cause I called Count Julian 

friend. 
The politic peace has grown to warmest love. 
I love the man. Within the bounds of Spain 
There 's no such warrior — happy land of ours, 
That sleeps in peace while that great heart and 

hand 
Guard all our coasts — a stately knight- at-arms, 
A rock of strength, a king — a king of men. 

Roderick. 
Aye, aye, here 's zeal indeed ! Does he forget 
There's but one king in Spain? 

Martinez. 

Pardon, my liege ! 



20 COUNT JULIAN act i 

My words outrun me ; I am so easily moved, 
So little apt to weigh my words. Forgive me ! 

Roderick. 
An easy pardon for a noble fault. 
Carlos, 't will profit thee to see this count, 
A mighty man ! 

Carlos. 
And will he stay, my liege? 

Roderick. 
Nay! He but brings his daughter, his sole 

child, 
To place her with our queen. Now Ferdinand, 
Once more ! One last bout ere we play the 

king ! 
The boy will make a swordsman. 

\_Sword-plny. 
Carlos. 

Hold ! My hege ! 
The jewel from thy neck ! The chain is broken. 

Roderick. 

My chain, my jewel, sacred talisman ! 
Pray heaven it be not lost. 



act i a spanish tragedy 2 1 

Martinez. 

My liege, 't is here. 
\^He kneels and tenders the gem. 

Roderick. 
Rise, friend, and take our thanks. 
Dear lad, hadst thou but scarred this talisman, 
Whereon my safety hangs, or so they say, 
My soldiers had come howling for thy death. 

Ferdinand. 
Thy soldiers know me, sire, and know full 

well 
That for my king I had not feared to die. 

Roderick. 
They know thee and I know thee true of 

heart 
As sure of hand. Wilt make a swordsman, 

boy? 

Ferdinand. 
Aye, if my king will teach me. 

Servant. 
Room for the queen ! 



22 COUNT JULIAN act i 

Roderick. 
Put up thy sword, lest our fair lady swoon 
At naked steel ! — My queen ! 

The Queen enters, with ladies, bite-bearcrs, 
and pages. 

Queen. 

My lord and king ! 
— Advance my fan, I pray; this glare offends 

me — 
We come in duty at our king's command. 

Roderick. 
Now, out on duty ! Let us on this fair day 
Be friends and chat together, thou and I ; 
I find it hard to play the king to-day. 

Queen. 
Kings have their duties, sire : here at court 
We have our world about us. — Hither, boy ! 
Go charge young Esteban he take his lute 
To the third bower ; we will be there anon — 
The fan more forward ! So ! — Sire, we are 
come 



A SPANISH TRAGEDY 



23 



At your command for some royal ceremony, 
The greeting of some captain. 

Roderick. 
Hearken, lords ! 
The greeting of some captain ! 

Queen [zvitJi finger-tips at cars'). 
Ah! 

Roderick. 

On my life 

A captain that might shake the world in arms ! 

Watch-dog of Spain and terror to the Moor, 

The great Count Julian ! — Carlos, Ferdinand, 

Ve that arc nearest to us, get ye gone, 

And with all protest of our dearest love. 

All show of honour,. honouring you who show it. 

Bring in the count. 

\_Exeujit Carlos and Ferdinand. 
We pray our lady queen, 
Be sweet and gracious to this noble knight. 

Queen. 
We shall in all obey our king's command. 

[ To her zuovien. 
A border count ! Will he be shaggy, think you ? 



24 COUNT JULIAN act i 

Roderick. 
Ah me ! And then to horse again and out, 
Out to the merry green-wood ! A wooing air 
Comes from the fields, the pure keen breath 

of May, 
And bids our hearts be roving. 

[^«/^r Julian and Florinda witJi attendimts. 

By my soul. 
And is not this the Spring-time, maiden May, 
That like a fawn beside the forester 
Comes from the open air? Count Julian, hail! 
We give thee welcome and thy fairest child. 

Julian. 
Sire, to my king and to his lady queen 
I kneel, and for his welcome tendering thanks, 
Entreat his gracious leave to say farewell. 

Roderick. 
* Farewell ' thy first word ! Nay, we pray thee, 

count. 
Stay with us yet a little. 

Julian. 

Sire, I pray, 
That I have leave to go. I am strange at court 



A SPAX/SH TRAGEDY 



25 



And do not know its fashions. I would go 

Back to mine ancient castle by the sea, 

Long rides, night watches, and rude friends in 

arms. 
'T is mine to watch the Moor. 

Roderick. 

Aye, what of him, 
What of the Moor? Is 't true the knaves will 

dare 
To cross the sea and match their strength with 
ours? 

Julian. 
Indeed, I think so, sire. The northern coasts 
Of Africa are thick with armed men. 
Their horses like a cloud upon the plain — 
Small, light, fine-jointed horses that can bear 
Each a tall man from dawn to set of sun 
And never tire. 

Roderick. 
By heaven, I '11 win their mares 
And cross them with our Spaniards — and their 

men, 
Are horsemen worthy of so gallant steeds? 



26 COUiVT JULIAN act i 

Julian. 
The Moors are fierce and keen, well skilled in 

war 
And used to victory — their conquering sword 
Has bowed the nations to them; and now they 

lead 
A motley host of subject men-at-arms, 
Negroes with tufted plumes and painted arms. 
Tall Nubians, blackest of the devil's brood, 
And renegadoes from the Grecian isles. 
My spies have seen their myriad tents i' the 

glare 
Of mid-day sun, pennants and gay pavilions 
Of countless chiefs, and purple awnings hung 
To woo the air for miles along the shore; 
And they have heard on every vantage-point 
Or promontory the crash of barbarous drum. 
Cymbal, or chant barbaric. Each deep bay, 
Or merest bend o' the shore, is filled with ships 
Thick as white birds blown in from open sea 
By stress of storm ; and soon they '11 fly once 

more 
On flying waves against us. From the crest 
Of my old castle watchers day and night 



A SPAAVSH TRAGEDY 



27 



Look out toward the sea; on headland, cape, 
And mound of all our coast are faggots piled. 
Be sure, my liege, that on some darkling eve 
Or in the twilight of uncertain dawn 
I shall descry the far-off fire ablaze, 
See height to height in order leap to flame, 
Each flame a tongue of warning, and shall know 
The Moors are come to Spain. 

Roderick. 

And let them come ! 
By heaven, it makes glad riot in my blood 
To think of battling with the dusky knaves ! 

Julian. 
Well said, my king ! The kingly lion roars 
At scent of prey. But let thy servant go : 
111 fares the guard with the watchful eye away. 
I did but come to bring my child to court; 
]\Iy child who wearied of her eyrie home; 
And leaving her I leave my heart with thee — 
My heart, my bird ! 

Flo RIND A {nestling to his side). 
My father ! 



28 COUNT JULIAN act i 

Julian. 

'T is time she fly 
A little from my hand, — but not too far. 
She longed to see the court, and she is here; 
But she will not forget her rock-borne home. 
Her little room in thickness of the wall, — 
The loyal rough men, who 'd yield them all to 

death 
Ere her least curl were ruffled. 

Florinda. 

Take me home ! 
I know not, I, if I am wrong to speak 
In this great presence, but oh, you must not 

grieve. 
Nor your brave comrades grieve for such as I — 
Dear father, take me home. 

Julian. 

Now nay, my child ! 
It was thy wish to come, and thou art here; 
And thou shalt see the court. My lord and 

king, 
I yield thee that for a little, which having not 



A SPANISH TRAGEDY 



29 



I have no light in my eyes — God grant me 

hght 
To see far off the galle}'s of the Moor — 
I leave thee all my heart. 

Roderick. 

A princely gift ! 
And we will guard thy shy bird as thyself: 
So sweet a maid should claim no meaner guard. 

Martinez Qo Diego). 
He eyes her as the falcon eyes the kid ; 
Do you mark him, do you mark him ? If by 

this 
Count Julian come to feel my knife in his heart! 

Diego. 
By Herc'Ies' — 

Martinez. 

Hold thy peace 

Diego. 

— the maid is fair ! 



30 COUNT JULIAN act i 

Roderick. 
In truth she is welcome as these airs of May. 
What is thy name? 

Florinda. 
Florinda. 

Roderick. 

A name of May ! 
Thy king shall be thy guard. 

Martinez (^advancing). 
A boon, my liege ! 

That for a further pledge of mutual love 
'Twixt this great count and me thou wilt consent, 
I name myself next to my gracious king 
The champion of this maid. 

[Roderick boivs. 

Diego (aside). 
By Herc'les' might 
He has the gift of tongues ! Give him an 

hour 
And he will creep in his heart. 



ACT I A SPA.YISH TRAGEDY 

Julian {to Martinez). 

I thank thee, friend. 
As our old hate so strong our new-knit love ! 
I thank thee for thy pledge. 

Queen. 

Perchance the count - 
I think 'tis custom of more gentle courts — 
Will yield his daughter to the queen, to serve 
Among the ladies nearest to our grace. 

Julian. 
Indeed, I hoped no less. Farewell, my child ; 
Forget not me nor thy dead mother's prayers. 

Florinda. 
Farewell, dear father ! Do not grieve for me, 
So little worthy of so great a love : 
I will come back to thee so soon — so soon. 

Roderick. 
Stay with us here and be our own right hand, 
Or, if thou needst must go, yet stay awhile 
With thy sweet child- 



Si 



j- 



COUNT JULIAN 



Florinda. 
Aye, father, stay with me. 
At court with me; that will be joy indeed — 
At court with me ! 

Julian. 
'T would be more hard to go. 
I pray thee, sire, tempt me not: thou knowest 
That I have work to do. Farewell, my 

child ! 
Farewell, my child and dear ! 
\^Hc em b}' aces Jier and gives her to the Qjieens 
ladies, who gather about her zvith questions 
and courtesies. 

Roderick. 

And fare thee well, 
Thou sword of chivalry and pride of Spain! 
My guards shall wait upon thee. 

Julian. 

Nay, my liege: 
My men are few but tried ; I ask no more; 
We must ride fast and far ere night. — Florinda ! 



A SPAjV/S// tragedy 



33 



\_Abont to go Jie turns for one more embrace 
of his child and calls to her. Intent on her 
converse ivith the Queen's ladies, she docs not 
hear him. 

She heeds me not; 'tis best. God guard my 
child. 

[As he goes ont ivitli a prayer on his lips, the 
curtain falls. 



END OF ACT I. 



Act II. 
AUTUMN 



Act II. 

A U T U U N. 

Scene. — T//e Kings Himting-lodge in the 
Forest. Carlos and Ferdinand are resting 
and drinking. 

Carlos. 
Now, I warrant thee, Ferdinand, those boy's- 
bones of thine ache with this riding. 

Ferdlxand. 
And thy joints, gallant veteran? Methinks 
I hear them groan with memories of our wild 
journey. Our Roderick rode from court like a 
hunted hare, as if the devil were after him — or 
the queen. 

Carlos. 
Guard thy lips, man ! 



38 COUNT JULIAN act ii 

Ferdinand. 
Oh, we are far from court, and may let free 
tongues wag in the free forest. We know how 
Httle cause our brav^e knig has to love his queen 
of gardens. 

Carlos. 
He would have thee know it and not speak it. 

Ferdinand. 
I like not thy caution, but heaven knows I 
would not grieve the king. I love him, and 
would not live a day out of his gallant company. 
Oh, he is the very heart of chivalry ! But I pray 
thee, Carlos, tell me, if thou hast breath enough 
to answer, why does the king fly hither, with 
thee and me jangling at his heels like a couple 
of loose spurs on a mad horseman? 

Carlos. 
Perchance he comes to hunt. This is his 
favourite hunting-lodge. 

Ferdinand. 
To hunt the stag or the wolf perchance? 
And that is why he lamed his best horse upon 



A SPAiVISH TRAGEDY 



39 



the wild ride hither. A better reason, dear 

Carlos ! 

Carlos. 

Well, boy, I give thee this. Attend — 

W/ie)i a man rides ^ as rode the king, 

And does not look at anything, 

No foe behind nor hawk above, 

He 's drunk with zvine or mad zvith love. 

Ferdinand. 
And drunk with wine he was not. 

Carlos. 

Why, then — 

Ferdinand. 

He is in love! With whom, dear Carlos? 

But, man, in the name of thy caution, why 

should a man in love ride hither — to this rough 

place, where there is never a woman but one 

old crone who sifts the straw? 

Carlos. 
Attend again ! This jolting in the saddle is a 
rare thing for shaking up poetry in a man. 
When a man loves ivhere least he may, 
An he be zvisc, he rides aivay. 



40 COUNT JULIAN ACT ii 

Ferdinand. 
Ho ! This is the very poetry of jog-trot 
caution — but who is she, who is the lady? 

Carlos. 
Where hast thou kept thine eyes the last week 
or two? If you boys could see aught but your 
new swords or the new plumes in your old caps, 
the blindest of you must have seen where Rod- 
erick's eyes have strayed — aye, and what fair 
maiden's eyes have gone a-roving to the king's. 

Ferdinand. 
Who? who is she? I am on fire to know. 

Carlos. 
I '11 tell thee in thine ear. ' T is no less a lady 
than the only daughter of the great Count 
Julian. 

Ferdinand. 
The lady Florinda? 

Carlos. 
And now, did he well or no to ride his fastest 
from so fair a temptation, and one so full of 
danger. 



ACT II A SPANISH TRAGEDY 



41 



Ferdinand. 
Poor girl ! And thou sayest she loves the 
king? 

Carlos. 
I say naught. I am not versed in such mat- 
ters. I did but note a look of the eyes and a 
trick of blushing. 

Ferdinand. 
She is a very rose, as fresh and as innocent. 

Carlos. 
Ha! Hast thou looked that way? 

Ferdinand. 
Not I, i' faith — I am for no woman — not 
while I have a horse to my mind and the great 
green wood to ride, and the best king in the 
world for friend. I am glad he rode away. The 
tempting of an innocent, sweet maid had brought 
him little honour. 

Carlos. 

And great danger. 
Count Julian loves his daughter as his life;, 



42 COUNT JULIAN act ii 

Count Julian is the proudest soul in Spain; 
Count Julian would not brook — Enough! the 

king ! 
The dust of our wild journey yet upon him ! 

Enter Roderick in some disorder. 

Roderick. 
Fill me a cup of wine! I cannot rest; 
My blood 's on fire. I drink the sweetest maid 
In Spain. O Carlos, Ferdinand, my friends, 
Here in the wild wood I may ease my heart 
And speak to you. For days I have kept my 

teeth 
Set like a dog's, lest I should speak my thought. 

Ferdinand. 
Oh, speak to us, dear lord and friend. 

Carlos. 
The king 
Knows he can trust me. 

Roderick. 
Aye, I know it well — 



A SPAXISll TRAGEDY 



43 



And yet I know it not. Whom shall I trust, 
Who dare not trust mj'sclf ? Some charm, I 

swear, 
Has fired my blood, or traitorous hellebore; 
I were not else so weak. Pity me, friends, 
Who am made weak by love. 

Ferdinand. 

By love, my liege? 

Roderick. 
Aye, by that poison for the hearts of men, 
Poison most subtle for the will of kings — 
I am in the toils. 

P'erdinand. 
Dear master, ease thy heart 
And speak to us. 

Carlos. 
Aye, sire. 

Roderick. 

A month ago, 
When the hot summer drew to fiery close. 
One breathless noon I wandered in the palace 



44 COUNT JULIAiV ACT ii 

Through hushed and darkened rooms, where 

never a man 
But I may enter. There with idle hand 
I pushed a noiseless lattice, and looked down 
Into the close-kept garden of our queen. 
The queen ! You are my true friends, and 

know well 
How little welcome am I to the haunts 
Of our proud queen. I had been shamed to 

pry 
Into these gardens of hers, but I had seen 
At the first glance their mistress was not there — 
And I had seen — Ah, God, that I had gone 
And seen no more! And yet — and yet — 

Ferdinand. 
My liege. 
What didst thou see? 

Roderick. 
Oh, boy, so fair a sight; 
For, where the shadows of the leaves lay still 
On the soft lawn, and not a sound was heard 
Save plash of the little fountain, there on the 
brink, 



A SPAXISH TRAGEDY 



45 



Where tiny grasses green for all the heat 
Were half afloat, there lay the fairest maids 
The fairest ladies of our court. The noon, 
The summer shade, the safety of the place 
And murmured charm of the water had beguiled 
Their idle hearts : all negligent they lay 
This way and that, with cheek on rounded arm 
Or arms outspread, and loosened hair and robe — 
A sight to live for, for their slender feet 
Were on the grass or in the fountain fair, 
And in the rare disorder roseate limbs, 
Shoulders and breasts more fair — a sight to 

live for ! 
It would have fired a colder blood than mine. 

Ferdinand. 
Or mine, by heaven ! 

Carlos. 
Or mine, by — what you will. 

Roderick. 
And, as I could not choose but gaze, there rose 
An idle contest 'mid the laughing girls. 
Which were more beautiful, the dark or fair. 



46 COUNT JULIAN- act ii 

Ferdinand. 
The fair for me ! 

Roderick. 
Thou knowest the dark Inez? 
It seemed she triumphed, for no hly maid 
Could show such lustrous eyes or queenly limbs 
Or glow of sunset hues; her dark-eyed mates 
Hailed her triumphant: — then I heard a cry 
And some one pointed, and I looked, and saw 
Where half withdrawn the young Florinda lay. 

Carlos. 
Count Julian's daughter! 

Roderick. 
Sleeping she lay and smiled ; 
Her lips were parted like a babe's, a warmth 
Like a babe's flush was on her cheek. She lay 
As if sleep loved her, lost to all the world, 
A vision of a maiden in a trance, 
Spell-bound by fays 'neath oleander bloom. 
Modest among the free, all swathed about 
With soft white stuffs, I know not what. Two 
girls 



ACT II A SPANISH TRAGEDY 



47 



Leapt on her, laughing; ere she was half 

awake, 
She was half disrobed : one drew the binding 

comb 
From her bright hair, and like a golden cloud 
It wrapt her round — too soon, for the other 

girl 
Had deftly drawn the vaporous lawns away 
And I had seen, ere fell the envious curls. 
White neck and dazzling arms — my fairy fair, 
My fair lost love ; — light as a fawn she leapt 
From the quick girls, and stood all radiant 

there, 
Laughing and trembling, and with eager hand 
Caught at her sliding gown. And there she 

stands 
And mocks me with her beauty day and night ; 
I cannot sleep for this one dream, nor wake 
But I behold her only. I have fought 
In hard-won fields, but never such a fight 
As this, wherein I warred with tyrant love. 

Carlos. 
Is the fisrht won? 



48 COUNT JULIAN act ii 

Roderick. 
I am here. 

Ferdinand. 
And she, my Hege? 

Roderick. 
No word of her ! Or tell me I did dream 
When I have seen in her sweet innocent eyes, 
Those innocent eyes that knew not their own tale, 
The dawn of love — the dawn of love for me. 

Ferdinand. 
She could not choose but love thee. 

Roderick. 

Think'st thou so? 
Oh, Ferdinand, I — I would not have it so ; 
And yet I know 't is so ; she loves me, loves me. 

Carlos. 
In truth, my liege, if this be so, thou hast shown 
A virtue rare in princes. 

Roderick. 

Do not mock me. 
Had I not sworn to guard her safe from harm? 



act n a spanish tragedy 49 

Carlos. 
And she remains at court, my liege? 

Roderick. 
Not so. 

Carlos. 
She is gone from court? 

Roderick. 
I tell thee, man, she is gone. 
This morning, ere we rode, I trusted her 
To good Martinez, who will bear her safe, 
With some false tale of fevers at the court, 
To Julian's castle by the distant sea. 

Carlos. 
But, sire, the road, by which she journeys, 

goes 
Through this same wood, not many miles from 
this. 

Roderick. 
Dost think I know not that? I tell thee, man, 
I could not rest at court when she was gone, 
And here I cannot rest; my heart and brain 
4 



50 COUNT JULIAN- act ii 

Are all on fire to ride and seize the girl 

In the dark wood. But that I am the king, 

And not a lawless robber on the road, 

Alone I 'd tear her from them. Oh, my love. 

So near to me yet all the world away, 

Oh, my lost love ! 

\^A knocking at the gate. 

Martinez {without') . 
What ho ! Within there, ho ! 

Roderick. 
Who is 't that calls? Am I a coward to shake 
At a man's voice? Go, Carlos, out and see 
Who is 't that calls. 

Carlos. 
I go, sire. {^Exit. 

Roderick. 

All my soul 

Is filled with fear, and hope more fell than fear. 

If 'twere Martinez' voice! 

Martinez {without). 
What ho ! Within ! 



ACT II A Sr AX/SI/ TRAGEDY 5 1 

Carlos {without). 
Who is 't that calls so loud? 



Martinez (ivithout'). 
Friends to the king. 

Roderick. 
Whose voice is that? \_To Ferdinand. 

Ferdinand. 

'T is Don IMartinez, sire, 
Or my ears mock me. 

Roderick. 
No ! I tell thee, no. 
Did I not bid him take the maid and go 
A world away from this? It is not he; 
And yet — and yet — how slow this Carlos is ! 
Go thou — no, stay ! I would not have thee 

go; 
I know it is not he ; he would not dare 
To disobey ; it is not he — out, out ! 
Are thy young limbs as slow as Carlos' blood? 
Out, out, and see who is 't that calls. 



5 2 COUNT JULIAN act ii 

Ferdinand. 
My liege ! 

\_He bows and hurries out : a sound of 

bolts and bars removed. 

Roderick. 
Oh, if my love be dead and he bring news ! 
Who is 't? 

\_To Carlos «;/<;/ Ferdinand who enter. 

Carlos. 
'T is Don Martinez, and he craves 
An audience of his king, 

Roderick. 
Quick, bring him in ! 
Looks he like one that brings ill news? Make 

haste 
And bring him in. 

[Carlos goes, and returns with Martinez, 
Martinez ! 

Martinez ( kneeling) . 

Pardon, sire ! 



act ii a spanish tragedy 53 

Roderick. 
Is she safe? Look to it ! If but a single hair 
Of that fair head be harmed, thy Hfe shall pay 

for 't. 
Is she safe? Answer ! 

Martinez. 
She is safe, my liege. 

Roderick. 
Thank heaven for that ! — Why art thou here ? 

Martinez. 
My liege ! 

Roderick. 
Why art thou here? 

Martinez. 

Alas, my lord, I am here 
Because I failed. I could not do thy bidding. 
All day we journeyed safe, but, when night fell, 
My scouts fled back to me with fearful news 
Of outlaws, a great band, upon the road. 
We were too few to fight, and our fair charge 



54 COUNT JULIAN act ii 

Already frighted by the coming storm, 
Which even now pursues us, dared no more. 
I seized a woodland boor to show the track, 
A rough cross-road i' the forest, and came here. 

Roderick. 
And she? Where is she? 

Martinez. 

The gentle lady waits 
Here at thy door, and weeps between two fears — 
Fear of the robbers, fear to offend the king. 

Roderick. 
She must not wait — why did you bring her 
here? 

Martinez. 
My liege? 

Roderick. 
Why did you bring her here? The truth ! 

Martinez. 
Have I done wrong? I feared lest she should 
fall 



A SFAA'ISH TRAGEDY 



55 



To tlie rough grasp of wild and lawless men: 
Was I wrong, sire? 

Roderick. 
No, no, )'ou are right, and I — 
She must not wait for me. 

\_Exit Roderick. 

Carlos. 
Now, Don ]\Iartinez, tell us, I pray thee, in 
all honesty, if these robbers of thine be stout 
fellows all compact of blood and bone and vil- 
lany ; — or are they moonlight knaves, shadows 
of twisted trees, creatures of the wayward 
fancy? Are they but airy nothings or real 
men? 

Martinez. 
All real enough to wake a maiden's fears, 
And earn a king's thanks ere the tale be done. 

Ferdinand. 
Thou hast lied then ; thou hast betrayed thy 

trust — 
By heaven, 't was a deed as black as hell. 



^6 COUNT JULIAN act ii 

Martinez. 
Good boy, I pray thee mind thy words. 

Ferdinand. 

Not I! 
I have no better word for thee than pandar. 

Martinez. 
An ancient and an honourable trade, 
Ancient and honoured as the trade of butcher; 
But if the one, I well may be the other. 
And apt to carve thy fool's-joints. 

Ferdinand. 
Say'st thou so? 

Though thou be baser than thy woodland boor, 
I '11 fight with thee. \_Draivs. 

Martinez. 
A boy, and fight with me ! 
Be wise and keep thy life. 

Ferdinand. 
Coward and slave, 
I am with thee to the death. 



A SrANISH TRAGEDY 



57 



Martinez {draiving). 
Then have thy will. \TJiey figJit. 

Carlos. 

Stay! are you mad? The king? 

[Roderick enters supporting Florinda. She 
shrinks from his arm against the doorpost and 
hides her face in fear. The king springs for- 
ward and beats down their swords. 

Roderick. 
Hold, on your lives ! 
By heaven, this passes patience ! 

Martinez. 

Pardon, sire ! 
He put such foul, unnatural terms upon me, 
Thyself had'st bidden me draw. 

Ferdinand. 

My lord and king, 
I pray thee for thy honour hear me speak; 
This villain doth abuse thee — 



58 COUNT JULIAN act ii 

Roderick. 
I '11 hear no more ; 
Give me your swords ; away ! 

[Ferdinand j7>/^j- Jds sivord ; thcji, to 
Martinez. 

Ferdinand. 
I pray, Martinez, 

Tiiat I have sword in hand when next we meet. 

[^Exil Ferdinand. 

Martinez. 
My liege, thou see'st — 

Roderick. 
Enough ! Give me thy sword. 

[Martinez jzVA/i- his sivord and goes. 
Go, Carlos, after them, and on thy head 
Be further strife ! 

Carlos. 
My liege ! 

Roderick. 
Away ! 
\^Exit Carlos, Roderick goes to Florinda. 



A SPANISH TRAGEDY 



59 



Dear heart, 
Art thou so much in fear? Poor trembling 

bird, 
Are the hawks abroad in the forest? Thou art 

safe ; 
Look up and see that thou art safe with me 
No outlaw rude nor vagrant man-at-arms, 
Nor lawless ranger of the great green wood, — 

\_distant thunder heard. 
No, nor the very thunder of high heaven 
Shall fright thee more. Look up and do not 

fear ; 
Thy sure defence is this our woodland home, 
Thy buckler is the strong heart of a king. 

Florixda. 
I could not choose but fear ; the darkling wood 
Was full of whispering, the brooding pines 
Shut out the light of heaven, and far away 
I heard the dreadful thunder, and then they 

came 
]\Ien flying in haste and crying of robber 

hordes. 
And I was faint with fear. 



6o COUNT JULIAN act ii 

Roderick. 

Poor woodland fawn ! 
Would I had been beside thee ! 

Florinda. 

Aye, in my fear 
I called on thee, I called for help on thee. 
Why didst thou drive me forth to make me mad 
In the great lonely forest? The twisted oaks 
Stretched down their arms to seize me as I rode, 
The night-bird moving shook my soul with fear, 
And ever and anon the lightning flame 
Rent like a sword the awful veil of night. 
Why didst thou send me forth to die of fear? 

Roderick. 
Thou dost not know? 

Florinda. 

Alas ! how should I know 
Why thou didst drive me forth to die of fear? 

Roderick. 
I loved thee. 



act ii a spaavsh tragedy (3i 

Florinda. 
Loved me? 

Roderick. 
I loved thee. Aye, by my soul 
Loved thee as no man loved till now ; my eyes 
Lived only on thy face, thy lightest step 
Set up a riot in my heart and stopped 
The word on my tongue ; I could have cast me 

down 
To kiss the earth where but thy shadow fell ; 
And so I sent thee from me, I did not dare 
To see thee more ; I sent thee far away, 
Aye, though my life went with thee, far away — 
Never to see thee more ; and now — and now — 
O God: 

Florinda. 
Ah me, my heart! my king — ah ! pity me. 

\_She looiild kneel to him but he holds her. 

Roderick. 
Thou dost not lo\'e me, then? Nay, let me see 
Those tell-tale eyes. Say that thou lov'st me 

not 
And I will let thee cro. 



62 COUNT JULIAN act ii 

Florinda. 

Oh ! pity me — 
My king, have pity on me. 

\_SJie tears Jicrsclf from him, sobbing. 

Roderick. 
I fright thee so ; 
Am I a devil ? Go in — thou wilt be safe ; 
I 'II send the woman to thee — nay, go in, 
Go. 

\^She goes tozvards the door, stops, hesi- 
tates and speaks. 

Florinda. 
Thou art angry with me? 

Roderick. 

Angry with thee ! 
Would God I had some anger in my blood ! 
Oh, I am tried beyond the strength of man ! 
Heaven help me ! 

\There is a flash of lightning and crash of 
thunder overhead. 



act ii a spanish tragedy 5^ 

Florixda. 
Oh! 

[^She staggers at the JiasJi and would fall but 
Roderick seir:cs her 171 his arms, zv here hi 
she lies ha If -fainting. 

Roderick. 
Lov^e ! Love, thou art not dead? 
Open thine eyes upon me, love, my love ! 

\_He kisses her. AnotJier flash of lightJiing 
shows Martinez zvatching: he goes softly 
azvay as the curtain falls. 



END OF ACT II. 



Act III. 
AUTUMN. 



Act III. 
A U T U U N. 

Scene. — Same as in Act II. 
Diego and Xarifa. 

Diego. 
Tell me then, most exquisite Xarifa, for 
which of my good qualities thou dost love me. 
Is it for my wit or for my valour? 

Xarifa. 
La, I cannot tell. Indeed, I cannot tell if I 
do love thee at all. 

Diego. 
Not love me? 

Xarifa. 
How shall one say that one doth love a man? 

Diego. 

'T is not uncommon. And thou wilt get this 
jewel for me from the Lady Florinda? 



58 COUNT JULIAN act hi 

Xarifa. 
I fear thou art a wicked man to ask it, and I 
a poor weak woman to say Aye. 

Diego. 
By Herc'les' might, thou art not the first poor 
weak woman that has said Aye to Don Diego. 

Xarifa. 
Hey? 

Diego. 
Nay, prithee, be not angry. I did but speak, 
as it were, by way of metaphor. 

Xarifa. 
I Hke not this speaking by way of metaphor: 
I know well that I am not so young as some. 

Diego. 
Youngest of all, I swear ! But come, Xarifa 
mine, thou wilt get me this jewel? 

Xarifa. 
'T is a rare gem, indeed. La, that it should 
be left by our sweet king to the care of a poor 
weak girl ! 



A SFAA'ISH TRAGEDY 



69 



Diego. 

By the starry night, what will a man not give 

to her he loves? 

Xarifa. 

'Tis very true, i' faith; and surely never did 
man love as our good king. His parting from 
the Lady Florinda — la, it was the most pretty 
and pathetical that ever eyes did see. 'Affairs 
of state, dear love,' says he, ' I must to court.' 
' And I shall never see thee more,' says she, with 
her eyes all filled with tears. ' Aye, by my 
sword,* says he, ' I will come back full soon.' 
' I shall not live till I see thee again,' says she, 
and with that she falls a-weeping and so clings 
about him that he cannot go. Then with a 
great sob takes he this jewel from his breast, 
and ' Dear heart,' says he, ' here is a pledge of 
my most quick return; 'tis only less precious 
than my very life.' And with that she falls to 
kissing the cold stone, and he to kissing her, 
and so they parted. 

Diego. 
I protest to thee, most radiant Xarifa, that 
I am moved almost to tears by this sweet tale 



70 COUNT JULIAN act hi 

of thine. This must be a jewel indeed, and by 

Her'cles' might I long to grasp it in my valiant 

hand ! 

Xarifa. 

And having seen it thou wilt give it back to 

me? 

Diego. 

Away with doubts ! Am I a picker and stealer? 

Am I not a gallant gentleman of Spain? 

Xarifa. 
Indeed, I hope thou art and an honest man beside. 
And thou wilt not hurt the poor sweet child? 

Diego. 
Am I a villain? 

Xarifa. 

Men are wicked, and thou art a man. 

Diego. 
I boast myself no less. A man, quotha ! 

Xarifa. 
And yet I think no man could harm this poor 
sweet lamb. Ah, if thou couldst see her in her 
sleep ! 



ACT III A SPANISH TRAGEDY yi 

Diego. 
I would willingly do so. Lead on ! 

Xarifa. 
Out on thee for an evil rogue ! Oh, la! Sure 
she is the most faithful soul alive ; and she sits 
sighing, the Iamb, and kneels praying, the dear 
sweet, now for heaven's pardon, and now for the 
sweet king's safety. 

Diego. 
Something too much of sweets ! Where 
does she keep this jewel? 

Xarifa. 

She wears it night and day on a chain about 

her lily neck. 

Diego. 

Canst thou not snap it in her sleep? 

Xarifa. 
In truth I cannot, for oh, the poor lamb sleeps 
so light and moves on her pillow and murmurs 
' Roderick ' ; and last night, when for thy sake I 
had advanced my hand — 



72 COUNT JULIAN act hi 

Diego. 
Ah, sweet hand ! 

Xarifa. 
'Twas almost on her neck, when up she leaps 
wild-eyed and crying to her father not to kill 
her. 

Diego. 
What, and are throats to be cut for loving? 

Xarifa. 
I cannot tell, I. Oh, la ! I fear this love is a 
rough master. 

Diego. 
No, by the starry heaven ! 'T is soft and 
gentle as a mating dove. Thou wilt make haste 
to get the gem for me ? 

Xarifa. 
I can refuse thee nothing. But thou wilt give 
it back on the instant. 

Diego. 
To those fair hands! Thus do I pledge my 
troth ! \_He kisses her hand. 



ACT III A SPAA^ISH TRAGEDY no 

Xarifa. 
Oh, la I Nay, in very truth, la ! 

Martinez enters. 

Martinez. 
Loth am I to break in on the wooing of doves. 

Xarifa. 
Ah ! I am shamed for ever I A man ! 

[Xarifa runs out. 

Martinez. 
How hast thou sped? 

Diego. 

Excellent well I The dear witch loves me ! 

Martinez. 
And thou hast got the jewel? 

Diego. 
Not yet. 

Martinez. 

Time speeds and I must have it. 

Diego. 

Is it so rare, this gem? 



74 COUNT JULIAN act in 

Martinez. 
Rare, man ! 'T is a talisman of might. If one 
of Roderick's race ride forth to battle without 
this precious jewel, his calf's-head falls to the 
ground as sure as an apple in autumn. If this 
bauble gleam not on the king's breastplate, 
when the trumpets sound, the credulous thick- 
pates, who are nine-tenths of every army in the 
world, will sit down for fear and offer their 
throats to the cutting. 

Diego. 
A potent jewel, truly ! 

Martinez. 
Aye, to dazzle fools ! With this small jewel 
in my hand I shall be more welcome to Tarik 
the Moor than if I came with a thousand horses 
and a fool astraddle of each. 

Diego. 
And wilt thou in very truth take service with 
the unbelievers? 



A SPAiVISH TRAGEDY 



75 



Martinez. 
Aye, that will I. I am on my way to Africa; 
and I must carry this jewel with me — and I 
will carry thee too, my stout rogue, my Hercules 
in little, for I protest I love thee. 

Diego. 
Nay, I 'II not go with thee — nay, that 's 
round; I will not. 

Martinez. 
Tut, man, I tell thee Spain is doomed. She 
is cleft in twain like a split orange — two parties 
everywhere contending ; friends of the late king, 
vultures remembering the excellent foul carcass ; 
followers of the king that is, dogs agape for 
scraps to come. Now what, I pray thee, happens 
to a state, wherein two parties fight more fiercely 
each against each than both against the common 
foe? In a word — damnation. Wilt wait till 
thou hast heard the Barbary horse neigh in King 
Roderick's palace, and hast filled thy belly with 
chopped straw in the stable? Who then ^vill 
thank thee for scuttling to the Moor? Now I 
by heaven's grace can see a span before my 



76 COUNT JULIAN act hi 

nose; I shall Se first to bow the knee to the 
devil and meet a royal welcome. 

Diego. 

And what welcome, when thou comest back 

to Spain? 

Martinez. 

My foes at my feet to eat dirt withal. 'Sblood, 

man, 't is but to stain your face with juice of the 

nut and swear by Mahomet's beard, and you are 

as good a Moslem as the rest. 

Diego. 
Never ! By Herc'les' might, never ! 

Martinez. 
Not stain your pretty face, or has my dear 
rogue grown scrupulous? 

Diego. 

I '11 take my chance with Spain. 

Martinez. 
Take thy death with Spain ; for I '11 waste no 
more breath on thee. The king comes here ere 
night, and I must have this jewel ere he comes. 



act iii a spaausn tragedy 77 

Diego. 
It cannot be. Not all the art of man can 
compass it so soon. 

Martinez. 
Indeed ! Tut tut, man, lead me to thy fair 
witch, that I may question her ! I see that I 
must do my own business. It will not take me 
long to filch a jewel from a girl. 

Diego. 
Thou art not angry with me? 

Martinez. 
Angry? Not I, i' faith; but since thou art 
grown honest, I '11 have my eye on thee. Nay, 
go thou first. I like not this honesty; it 
offends me : pah ! 
\_Exeunt DiEGO and MARTINEZ. After a min- 
ute Florinda enters from her chamber. 

Florinda. 
Such hours to think and days to dream away ! 
I dare not think and pray I may not dream. 
My dreams are of my father, and I fear — 



78 COUNT JULIAN act hi 

Father, I did not think to fear thee so ; 
My hps can scarce say ' Father ' ; I see his face, 
Stern brows and loving smile, I feel his heart 
Beat against mine — Oh, no, 't is not his heart, 
'T is not his heart that beats so close to mine — 
Oh, Roderick, oh, my lover and my king, 
My gentle warrior, that dost love me well, 
Teach me to meet my father's vengeful eyes 
And not die at his feet. My love 's all fear. 
And I a bird upon the bare hill-side 
In shadow of the hawk ; I dare not think 
Of my father, and I dare not pray to God. 
Speechless upon my knees I lift vain hands 
To heaven that will not hear. How shall I pray 
To see my love no more? 'T were endless woe. 
How shall I pray to see him ? 'T were deadly sin. 
I am fallen into the nets. Oh, come to me — 
Thou wert so loth to go — come, teach me, love. 
To think of naught but thee, to pray for thee 
And not offend high heaven, to love thee so 
That there 's no room for fear. — The hours are 

long, 
And many hours must go to make the day. 
What shall I do to cheat the lagging time? 



ACT III A SFAA'ISH TRAGEDY yg 

Will time more quickly run to music's spell, 
Or rather linger listening? Come, my lute, 
Poor comrade lute, that art forlorn as I, 
And woo for me the night, the kind cool 

night, 
That brings us sleep, and teaches to forget. 

\^She sings to the lute. 

Hours of the mocking day, 

Go dozvn to ocean's breast, 
Fly fast and far aivay, 
And find your rest ! 
My lute and I are weary of your light — 
Good night I Good nigJit ! 

Hours of the starry night. 
Come ye, ivith silent feet. 
And faces veiled from light ; 
And, singing sweet. 
Lull us to sleep, and bring to our distress 
For getf Illness. 

Ah, now I know how vain this music is, 
That mocks our sorrow with a plaintive tone ! 



8o COUNT JULIAN ACT iii 

Lie there, poor artful lute, and let me weep 
Mere natural tears because my love 's away. 
My love is gone from me, and I must weep, 
Not idly sing of weeping. 

[Martinez enters, full of respect. 
Don Martinez ! 
Thou art from court ! Tell me, how does the 

king? 
How looks he? Sad or merry? Will he come? 

Martinez. 
He is well, dear lady. 

Florinda. 

Well, and away from me? 

Martinez. 
But pale and sad. 

Florinda. 
Not ill? Oh, heaven, not ill? 

Martinez. 
He is but pale with longing to be here. 



ACT in A SPAiV/SII TRAGEDY gl 

Florinda. 
I would not he were pale. When will he come? 

Martinez. 
The king comes here to-day. 

Florinda. 

Now, mock me not ! 
He will not come to-day. 

Martinez. 

Our gracious king 
Sent me, forerunner of his mighty love. 
To tell thee of his coming. 

Florinda. 

O happy day, 
Thy moments run like laughing sands of gold ! 
He is coming, my love and king, ere day be done. 
And I shall see his eyes like stars in the forest 
gloom. 

Martinez. 
There 's open breach betwixt the king and queen. 

Florinda. 
Ah me ! 

6 



82 COUNT JULIAN act hi 

Martinez. 
Dear lady, I crave leave to speak 
But once, to tell how all loyal hearts in Spain 
Hope for a final dissolution 
Of this ill-omened and most empty marriage. 
Heaven grant Martinez kneel the first to swear 
Devotion to his queen ! \_He kneels. 

Florinda. 
Kneel not to me — 
No, no — I fear heaven's anger. Pride and joy 
Grow not from such a root. God does not will 
We should rise so — why am I sad? 'T is true 
My king is coming, is coming — O heart of mine, 
Think only thy dear love comes here to-day. 
When will he come, what time o' the day? 



At dusk. 



Martinez. 

Florinda. 
Why does he tarry so? 

Martinez. 

He sent me forward 
To ask of thee the jewel, the talisman. 



ACT III A SFAAVS/f TRAGEDY 83 

Which late he left with thee ; on the edge o' the 

wood 
He will await my coming. The king's safety 
Hangs on that gem ; without its potent charm 
He may not enter the dark, treacherous wood. 
His love for thee has made him timorous. 

Florixda. 
It cannot be; my king can know no fear. 
I know thou art in error ; he made me swear, 
When he did give the gem, I would not yield it 
To any hand but his. 

Martinez. 

I pray thee, lady: 
I have the king's command. 

Florinda. 

Why, so have I. 

Martinez. 
My queen distrusts her faithful servant? 

Florinda. 

No. 
I do believe thee honest. 



84 COUNT JULIAN act hi 

Martinez. 

Gracious lady, 
I would that thou couldst read my heart — its 

love, 
Its love and truth to the good king and thee ; 
I pray thee, yield the gem. 

Florinda. 

It cannot be. 
He charged me on no plea nor plausible tale 
To yield it save to him; he bade me keep it 
As if I kept his life. 

Martinez. 
Yet I must have it. 

Florinda. 
What mean you ? 

Martinez. 
I ? I mean to have the gem ; 
I know 't is on the chain about your neck. 
What, child, because a king has smiled on you, 
Am I to be denied? 



act iii a spanish tragedy 85 

Florinda. 
Oh, heaven ! 

MARTIx\EZ. 

Nay, child. 
Heaven has no more to do with you. The gem ! 

Florinda. 
Dare you speak so? I am Count Julian's child. 

Martinez. 
Count Julian will not say so when he knows. 

Florinda. 
The shame, the shame ! 

Martinez. 

Nay, there 's no shame at all. 
I want the gem, and I must have the gem. 
Come, give it me, or I must take it from you, 
And, by the Mass, I may be rough in the taking. 

Florinda. 
Stand back, or dread the king. 



86 COUNT JULIAN act hi 

Martinez. 

The king, quotha? 
Am I a child? I care not for your kings. 

Florinda. 
Have you no mercy? 

Martinez. 

Not a jot. 

Florinda. 

But stay ! 

I '11 promise anything, gold, place, and power, 

The favour of the king. 

Martinez. 

I want the chain 
I see on your neck, and by my life I '11 have it. 

Florinda. 
A moment, only a moment, to think. I see 
I am weak, and I must yield — 

\_She puts her hand in her bosom as if for the 
jewel, and, in a Diomcnt, leaps away from 
Martinez with a dagger in her hand. 



A SPANISH TRAGEDY 



87 



Stand back, stand back ! 
Or I will kill you. 

Martinez. 
Ha ! A pretty trick ! 
You have the best on 't; I must sound a parley. 
You see I have no weapon. 

[^Raising his cloak, as if to show that lie lias 
no sword, he wraps it round his left arm ; 
then leaps in upon the girl, receives the 
dagger on the cloak, and seizes her. 

The chain, I say, the chain ! 

FLORINDA. 

Help, help ! 

Martinez. 

The chain ! — What's that? The king? 

[^ trumpet sounds. MARTINEZ pauses, with 

her dagger in his hand. FLORINDA 

wrenches herself from him, and runs tozvards 

the door. 

FLORINDA. 

The king! 
Help, Roderick, help ! 



88 COUNT JULIAN act hi 

Martinez. 

It cannot be the king. 
\_TJie door is flutig open, a /id Count Julian 
enters in haste: Florinda stands: Mar- 
tinez hides the dagger, and waits : Julian 
embraces Florinda. 

Julian. 
My child ! My bird ! Here is a wayside joy 
I looked not for, a flower by the rough road 
I travel ; indeed, I knew not thou wert here. 
One kiss for thee — one more. Now for the 

king ! 
I have news o' the Moors, both when and where 

they land 
Upon our coast; the king must draw together 
His utmost force, and march to my support, 
For I shall meet them first: the boon I craved 
Of heaven is mine, and I shall meet the Moor 
First of all Christian knights. Where is the 

king? 
What? Is my bird struck dumb with sudden 

view 
Of her old father? Thou art pale, my girl. 



ACT III A SPAiVISIf TRAGEDY 89 

When we have chased the Moslem out of Spain, 
I'll have thee back to breathe our mountain air, 
And win the rose to thy cheek. — Still silent, 

child? 
Where is the king? 

Florinda. 

Not here. 

Julian. 

A luckless day! 

They told me he was here, or I had ridden 

Straight for the court. The queen, then? 

Where is she? 

I cannot wait. 

Florinda. 

The queen ! 

Julian. 

She echoes me — 
What ails thee, child? — Ha! Don Martinez, 

thou 
Wilt answer me. The queen? 

Martinez. 

The queen 's at court. 



go COLWT JULIAN ACT III 

Julian. 
The queen at court and the queen's ladies here ! 
The queen was here? My child — 

Martinez. 

The king was here. 

Julian. 

The king ! The king ! My girl, why art thou 
here, 

And the queen away? Where are the other 
women? 

Is the girl dumb? What does it mean? — Mar- 
tinez ! 

Why dost thou look as thou didst pity me? 

Martinez. 
I pity thee ! 

Julian. 

No, no, it is not true. 
What does it mean? 

Martinez. 

Indeed, I pity thee ! 



ACT III A SPAXISH TRAGEDY qj 

Julian. 
The king was here, and not the queen — the 

king ! 
This is his hunting-lodge, his pleasure-place — 
The king was here, and this, my child, was 

here ! — 
God keep me sane ! No, no ; I do but dream, 
And horrible fancies, born of lustful tales. 
Mock me, to make me mad. 
Why does she stand so statue-like and wan. 
Speechless, as if some direful, freezing shame 
Held her mute lips which I have kissed so oft? 
Hast thou no words? Speak! By thy mother's 

soul 
I charge thee, speak — speak, lest I tear the truth 
Out from, thy heart : what art thou ? 

Florinda {falling at his feet). 

Mercy ! Father ! 

Julian. 
No, touch me not ! 

\_He sees the jeivel, zuhieh, in her disorder, has 
become visible. 



Q2 COUNT JULIAN act hi 

What's that on thy throat? By heaven, 
'T is the king's jewel ! Off with the price of 

shame ! 
Wilt thou take jewels for thine infamies? 
Wilt sell thyself for gold? Give it me, I say; 
There, there ! 

\_He tears it from her neck, and throivs it aside : 
Martinez sei:c:es it. 

Martinez. 
Thus all things come to him who waits- 
Farewell ! They heed me not. Now for the 
Moor! 
[Exit Martinez. Florinda /ies on the 
ground, with her face hidden. 

Julian. 
Aye, lie on the ground, and sully thy bright 

hair ; 
Thy place is in the dust. It was this morn I rode 
r the dewy grass, and heard the small birds sing, 
And pleased my soul with thoughts of her I 

loved. 
My girl, that was as good and glad as they — 



A SPAiV/SII TRAGEDY 



93 



This morn I And now? Now what is this that 

crawls 
About my feet? 

Florinda. 
Mercy ! Have mercy — father ! 

Julian. 
The traitor king ! O God, the traitor king ! 
Were there no wanton women at his court, 
No fawning, lustful women, but he must choose 
I\Iy innocent child? He swore to guard thee 

— he! 
The devils laughed in hell, hearing him swear 
That he would keep thee safe. 
He has kept thee for himself — God's curse 

upon him ! 

Florinda. 
No, no ! — Oh, do not curse him ! You do not 

know 
How hard he fought against his love. — Oh, 

father. 
You do not know ! — Oh, father ! 



QA COUA'T JULIAN act hi 

Julian. 

Plead not for him, 
Lest I remember that thou shouldst not Hve. 

Florinda. 
Oh, father ! take me hence, and bind me close ; 
Hide me in some deep dungeon, where no more 
I see the light o' the day, nor his dear eyes — 
My love, my love — 

Julian. 
Peace, wanton, for thy life ! 
Dost whine for him before thy father's face? 

Florinda. 
No ! Do not kill me ! 

Julian. 
Yet thou shouldst not live ! 
To thy knees and pray ! Haply thy tainted soul, 
Washed clean in blood, may, like a penitent 

prayer, 
Ascend to heaven. To thy knees, I say, and 
pray ! 



ACT III A SPAXISH TRAGEDY 



95 



Florinda. 

father, for pity — for my dead mother's love ! 

Julian. 
Speak not of her ! She knows how well I loved 

thee ; 
She knows that I should kill thee. 

Florinda. 

Kill me, then. 
But spare the king; do not desert the king! 

1 have had dreams, and seen his foes grow strong 
Against his life; thou, only thou, canst save him. 
The sin was mine — I tempted him — all mine; 
Kill me, but spare the king ! I '11 shut my eyes, 
That dare not see thy dread, avenging sword; 
Here, in my throat — strike here, but spare the 

king. 

Julian. 

No, I '11 not kill thee ; thou art not mine to slay. 

I have no child ; my innocent child is dead. 

I do not war with women. \^A tnimpct sounds. 

What sound is that? 
If it should be the kine! 



g6 COUNT JULIAN act hi 

Florinda. 

Have mercy, God ! 
[Enter Roderick with Carlos, Ferdi- 
nand, and others. He stops at sight of 

Julian. 

Roderick. 
Count Julian ! 

Julian. 

I am Julian, and I came, 

A loyal subject to a trusted king, 

To warn thee that thy foes are on the sea ; 

I came to pray that I might meet them first. 

First champion of the king. But now no more 

Will I draw sword for thee ; a crescent blade 

I '11 beg o' the Moor, and 'mid the Moorish lines 

Look for my face upon thy day of death. 

Forsworn, girl-conqueror, and Christian king. 

There lies my sword. 

\_He ihrozvs it at Roderick's feet. 

Carlos. 

My liege, give me the right 

To fight with him. 

Julian. 

Aye, bid thy pandars slay 

An unarmed man ; 'twere a fit end to this. 



ACT III A SPAX/SH TRAGEDY gy 

Kill me, for life is hateful grown as hell ; 
Kill me, for I am traitor to the king; 
Kill me, for here I swear to rest no more 
From bitter warfare till the king be slain. 

[Carlos and others move as if to attack him, 
but Roderick stops them. 

Roderick. 
Let him go safe ! He has good cause for hate. 
Give him his sword again. 

Julian. 

By heaven, I swear, 
I will not sheath it till the king be slain. 

Florinda. 
Father — in mercy — father ! 

Julian. 

I have no child. 
\_Exit Julian. 

END of act III. 



Act IV. 
S U M M E R. 



Act IV. 

SUMMER. 

Scene. — Count Julian's Tent in the UToors" 
Camp. Evening of a Day of Battle. Enter 
Ferdinand, supporting Florinda. Both 
are disguised. 

Ferdinand. 

Look up ! Thou art safe ; this is thy father's 

tent. 

Florinda. 

My father's tent? Safe in my father's home. 

Ferdinand. 
Ah! dost thou bleed? 

Florinda. 
'T was a stray arrow touched me as we came 
Too near the dying battle. —Nay, 'tis naught. 
Help me to bind this closer. 

\He tics her scarf more tightly on her arm. 



I02 COUNT JULIAN act iv 

So ! I am well, and in my father's tent — 
But thou begone ! Thou art in danger here ; 
The Moors may come ! — I thank thee, and 

farewell ! 

Ferdinand. 
What need to fear for me since thou art safe? 
Should the Moors come, as come in truth they 

may, 
Proclaim thyself Count Julian's honoured child. 

FLORINDA. 
Count Julian's honoured child ! 

Ferdinand. 

Thou wilt not fail 
To pray to him for Spain? 

Florinda. 

Aye, I will pray 
For Spain and for myself, but most for Spain — 
Most miserable that am the cause of all ! 
Oh, I will pray, as if the words like blood 
Brake from my heart, and drew the life away 
All in one prayer. But get thee hence, begone ! 
I would not have thee harmed. 



act iv a sfan/si/ tragedy 103 

Ferdinand. 

Be it as thou wilt. 
Farewell, farewell ! 

\_Hc kneels, kisses her Jiand, and goes. 

Florinda. 
Now all is well with me since I am here, 
Where a child should be, in her father's home. 
Oh, I am weary to the heart ! I bleed ; — 
I fear I shall not live to see his face. 

S^SJie tries to bind her arm more closely. 
So, so — keep in, poor wilful life of mine; 
Live but one hour, that wert in love with life. 
I must rest now, and make me strong to meet 
]\Iy father's eyes. Oh, let me rest one hour ! 
How went the foolish song? — 'Hours o' the 

night,' 
And ' Lull to rest,' and so ' forgetfulness.' 
If there were no more waking in the world ! 
\She sinks dozvn and sleeps, hidden by a cur- 
tain of the tent. Soon barbaric music is 
heard far off, and COUNT JULIAN enters. 
He seems aged and zvorn. 

Julian. 
I weary of the fight ere day be done. 



104 COUNT JULIAN act iv 

My wrongs, that should have given me giant's 

strength, 
Weigh on me Hke a burden ; I droop and fail. 
And reel in the saddle like a drunken man. 
I mind the time when through King Roderick's 

foes 
I rode, like wind above the yielding grain, 
And bore the weight of battle all day long; 
And when the fray was done I leapt to earth, 
As if 't were dawn and in the morning light 
I went forth to my reaping. O body of mine, 
Old age has come upon thee and made thee 

faint,. 
That wert so strong to bear the weight of arms. 
My eyes are blind with Christian blood, my ears 
Are filled with groans o' the Spaniard ; from my 

grasp 
Droops my good sword as from a hand grown 

old. 

Enter Martinez, from battle. 

Martinez. 
Hail, gallant count! By Mahomet's paradise 
The foe fougfht well. 



ACT IV A SPAiVIS/I TRAGEDY iqc 

Julian. 

The foe? 

Martinez. 

Th}' foe and mine, 
The Spaniard king: 'twas good to see him ride 
High on his horse before the ranks of Spain, 
Hot-blooded, and to know that he must die. 

Julian. 
He is owed to death. Is the day's battle done? 

Martinez. 
It sinks with the sun. The sullen foemen yield, 
But slowly ; here and there about the plain 
They stand at bay, or a squadron wheels to the 

charge, 
And hurls itself against us. Yet I know 
The end is sure, and thy most grievous wrong 
Shall be drowned out in blood. The hard-won 

field 
Shall groan beneath the weight of Christian dead. 
Then town on town shall leap to quivering flame, 
A torch for thee! — Why, thou wilt warm thy 

hands 



I06 COUNT JULIAN act iv 

At fires of Spanish towns, glut thy fierce soul 
With scent of Spanish blood, and charm thine 

ear 
With shrieks and groans of tortured countrymen. 
Joy to Count Julian ! 

Julian. 

No ! It shall not be. 
Tarik the Moor is noble, merciful ; 
He has sworn an oath to conquer and to spare. 

Martinez. 
And do you think that he or any man 
Can hold the dogs of hell? They'll have their 

way, 
Our army: every hue o' the devil is there, 
From naked Nubian to pale renegade Greek, 
The deadly sins made flesh : mothers and maids 
Shall shriek because your child — 

Julian. 

Hold, on your life ! 

Martinez. 
Pardon, great count, whom I revere and love ! 



A SPANISH TRAGEDY 



107 



I thought to please thee — Oh, my soul waxed 

great 
With joy of thy revenge ! From age to age 
This shall be told which thou hast done for 

Spain. 
Oh, thou shalt feed upon thy country's heart! 
It must be thou art happy. 

Julian. 

Happy ! 

Martinez. 
Now must I back to Tarik. Do not fear 
But I will come again, and soon. No joy 
Is left for me but to be near thee ever, 
And share thy life — for surely thou art happy. 
I leave thee with thy joy. 

\Exit Martinez. 

Julian. 

I feel no joy, 
Nor shall feel in this world. I am grown old. 
Weary of life. Only I pray to see 
The king's dead face, and in that hour to die. 
\_Moorish music. Enter a Messenger from Tarik, 
ivith guards, and FERDINAND, prisoner. 



I08 COUNT JULIAN- act iv 

Messenger. 
Tarik the Moor sends greeting to Count Julian, 
And as a gift this Spaniard, who was found 
Near to thy tent : 't is thought he came to kill 

thee, 
Assassin from the Christian king. 

Ferdinand. 

A lie! 

Messenger. 
He is disarmed, and Tarik sends him hither 
To be at thy command — for death or life. 

Julian. 
Take back my thanks to the most noble Moor, 
And leave thy prisoner here. I '11 question him. 
\Exe7int Messenger and guards. 

Ferdinand {aside'). 
Where is she? Has he seen her? No ; his eyes 
Are grave and calm. 

Julian. 
You came to kill me? 



ACT IV A SPA AYS// TRAGEDY jog 

Ferdinand. 

No, by heaven, not I ! 
I am a soldier, not a murderer. 

Julian. 
Thou art not strange to mc. I saw thy face 
There, with the traitor king. 

Ferdinand. 

The loyal king, 
The gentle king and gallant knight-at-arms, 
Who calls mc friend! — O Count, the villain 

lied 
Who said I came to kill thee ; for I came 
To call thee back to life, to wake thy soul, 
To fall before thy feet, as now I fall. 
And pray for Spain. 

Julian. 

It is too late. 

Ferdinand. 

Not so ! 
'Tis THOU art conqueror; our soldiers' hearts, 



jIO COUNT JULIAN act iv 

Already chilled because our king rides forth 

Without his sacred jewel and talisman, 

Which devil or traitor stole, are all weighed 

down 
With burden of thy wrong. To-day the fight 
Hangs in the balance ; to-morrow we shall win 
If thou art ours — but no, I ask not that — 
I only pray thee strike thy tents and go. 
If in the morning light thy tents be gone, 
Our soldiers will be strong once more to hurl 
These Moors to Africa. 

Julian. 
I have sworn an oath. 

Ferdinand. 
But think of it — what is 't to help the Moor ! 
Wilt thou stand by, and see the accursed crew 
Run riot all amuck with Christian blood? 

Julian. 
The Moor is as a cleansing fire of God, 
A flame to purify this world of Spain, 
Where noisome vapours breed. I tell thee, boy, 



ACT IV A SPAiVISH TRAGEDY m 

This land of thine is foul with lust and lies 
And lying kings — she must be purged by fire, 

Ferdinand. 
And for these words of thine old men and 

women, 
Mothers with babes at breast must cry to 

God, 
And children cry in vain — for these wild words 
Thou 'It loose the wolves of war upon our 

homes? 

Julian. 
Aye, though the Moor were black as the devil 

from hell, 
He has not wronged my child. 

Ferdinand. 

Oh, thou wert wronged, 
Most bitterly wronged; I have heard the king 

in sleep 
Cry out against himself, ' Forsworn, forsworn! ' 

Julian. 
Speak not of him. 



112 COUNT JULIAN act iv 

Ferdinand. 
But he has sufifered too ; 
He too was much abused ; he fought with love, 
And sent thy child away, sent her to thee. 

Julian. 
To me? Sent her to me? 

Ferdinand. 

He charged the man 
He trusted most to take her safe to thee. 

Julian. 
He sent my child to me? 

Ferdinand. 

Thou dost not know 't? 
Oh, thou wert much abused, and the king too ! 
The villain, to whose charge he gave thy child, 
That damned villain with a glozing tongue, 
Traitor to thee and traitor to the king. 
With lying tale of robbers on the road. 
Brought her — where thou didst find her — Oh, 

I know 
Thou hast great cause for anger 'gainst the king. 
But he too was betrayed. 



act iv a spanish tragedy ^ix 

Julian. 

Who is this villain? 
Does he live still? I hope he is not dead. 

Ferdinand. 
Martinez is the man. 

Julian. 

Martinez ! No ! 

Ferdinand. 
By heaven, I swear 't is true ! 

Julian. 

'T is false. I say ! 

This is a tale to cheat me ; I tell thee, boy, 

Martinez is my friend, that shares my tent, 

And rides with me to battle ; — beware, I say I 

'T were better thou hadst died the vilest death, 

That fearful man can image for his doom, 

Than lied to me in this. 

Ferdinand. 

By heaven, I swear 
'T was he betra}'ed thy child ! 



He. 



114 co unt julian 

Julian. 

Martinez? 

Ferdinand. 

Martinez enters. 

Martinez. 
Who called Martinez? 



Ferdinand. 

Art thou here, thou villain, 
Count Julian's friend that didst betray his child? 
Robber of jewels ! Liar ! When last we met, 
I prayed that I might meet thee sword in hand ; — 
Alas ! I am a prisoner, and disarmed. 

Martinez. 
I promised you your death, and you shall have it. 
\_He draws, and rushes on FERDINAND, JU- 
LIAN strikes down his szvord. 

Julian. 
Hold ! By the truth of God, if this be true, 
'T is thou must die. 



A SPAXISI/ TRAGEDY 



115 



Ferdinand. 
If it be true ! Thou villain, 
Hast thou so wound about his heart? 

Martinez. 

Dear lord, 

Thou wilt not heed this madman and our foe ; 

Thou know'st me thine till death. 

Ferdinand (to Julian). 

Lend me thy sword, 
And let God show the truth. 

Julian. 

Aye, take my sword. 

And let Him show the truth, if aught be true ! 

Martinez. 
Have at you, then ! 

[Julian gives his sword to Ferdinand. In- 
stantly Martinez attacks Ferdinand ivith 
fury, atid presses Jiiin hard; he sees beyond 
him Florinda'S pale face ; she h(7S bcoi 
awakened, and looks out at the clashof steel ; 
he gives ground, staring. 



Il5 COUNT JULIAN act iv 

What's that? AHve or dead? 
\_He fails to guard himself, and FERDINAND 
riDis him through. 
Ha! You have killed me — no, not you — 'tis 

she ; 
You had not reached me but for her. 

\_He falls. Ferdinand, ivho has not seen 
Florinda, sets Ids sword's point to his 
throat. 

Ferdinand. 

Confess ! 
Martinez. 
Confess? Confess I am a fool to be scared 
By a woman, and be spitted by a boy ! 
Confess me to Count Julian? Mighty count, 
Have I not had my vengeance? Give me time. 
Oh, give me time that I may taste to the end 
My great revenge ! Ah, that a man must die, 
Die like a trodden worm, and taste no more 
This exquisite joy of vengeance ! Look, great 

count, 
Look where she stands, thine own and only child, 
A mock, a scorn, a wanton ! 

[//^ struggles to his feet. 



A SPANISH TRAGEDY 



117 



Lights there, hghts 
For JuHan's daughter, Roderick's light o' love! 
Lights, Hghts ! I cannot see. I will not die 
Till I am filled with my most sweet revenge. 
Back, crowding shadows of night ! I will not die ! 

IHc falls dead. 

Julian {gazing at Florinda, ivho stands mo- 
tionless) . 
My child ! But no, I think I have no child. 
My child is dead. This is some vision fair, 
Conjured by devilish art to make me mad. 
My child was warm, and innocent, and young; 
This is a cold, white woman, penitent, 
With grieving eyes. — Away, and mock me not; 

Away ! 

Florinda. 

Oh, hear me ! I have crept here i' the dusk 

To see thy face, my father, and speak words 

Would move thy heart to pity — no, not for me — 

Pity for Spain, and mercy for the king! 

No, do not turn away — I am so weak; 

I came to say such words would move thy heart, 

And now I cannot speak. 

\_She reels, and FERDINAND supports Jier. 



Il8 COUNT JULIAN act iv 

Julian. 

Look, look ! Ha, ha, 
The wanton 's in his arms ! 

Ferdinand. 

Oh, she is hurt ! 
Look, where she bleeds ! 

Florinda. 
'T is nothing ! 't is nothing ! I think that I shall 

die — 
I am so glad to die. 

Julian. 

To die? to die? 
Aye, truly death is best: this fair-wrought 

world 
Is foul with lies and blood ; and honest men 
Seek truth, and find the grave : it is best 

to die. 
Give me my child — here, on my heart. 

Florinda {in his arms). 

My father ! 



A SFAAVSH TRAGEDY 



119 



Julian. 

Lie still upon my heart — close, lest it break : 
Washed pure by blood, my innocent, innocent 

child : 
Thine eyes arc like thy mother's, 

Flo RIND A. 

I am glad 
To rest on thy heart again, and there to die. 

Julian. 

No, no, she must not die ! Fly thou to 

Tarik — 

\To Ferdinand. 

These Moors are skilful leeches — bid him 

send 
His wisest to me — fly ! 

Ferdinand. 

Trust me to bring him. 
[Ferdinand, hurrying to the entrance, meets 
a band of Moors ; he tries to pass them, but 
they bear him back with them. 



120 COUXT JULIAN act iv 

Messenger. 
Tarik sends greeting to Count Julian, 
And this, the choicest gift he hath to send, 
The shield of Roderick. 

\^He lays the shield at Julian's feet. 

Florinda. 
Oh, my heart, he is dead ! 

Messenger. 
In the last charge of this most glorious day, 
Robed like a king, and riding in the van, 
The warrior fell, and Tarik sends his shield. 

[Florinda falls, and embraces the shield. 

Florinda. 
Ah, happy, thou ! He held thee on his arm ; 
Thou wert above his heart. Father, forgive me. 
May I not love him now? 

Ferdinand (^struggling zvith Jiis guards'). 

Quick, let me go ! 
Look to her, men; she is wounded. 



act iv a spaxis// tragedy 121 

Julian. 

She is dead. 
Come, dear, and let me bear thee on my 

heart, 
As I was used to bear thee when a babe, 
My innocent babe ! Thy mother loved thee, 

sweet. 
And thou wert kind and merry. Cold and 

still? 
I had forgot that thou wert dead, my girl — 
Dead, and thy mother dead, and I live still? 
I am all confused ; I prithee let me speak ; 
I have some words to say ere all be done. 
I must be courteous to the gentle Moor. 
Go you and take Count Julian's thanks to 

Tarik, 
And tell him — aye, I know what I would say — 
Tell him, if Julian hath done aught to aid, 
He prays him in his hour of victory 
To think on mercy; he doth entreat his mercy 
For women and little children, who himself 
Ilath neither wife nor child. What said the 

fool 



122 COUNT JULIAN act iv 

Of exquisite joy of vengeance? The king is 

dead 
Who wronged me, and I feel no joy ; my child — 
She is dead too, and surely Spain shall die; 
And I alone am left, a weak old man, 
A lonely watcher in the courts of Death. 
God grant me end of days ! My heart, my 
bird. 
\_Kneeling he tries to raise her body to his 
breast. The Moors close softly round him. 



THE END. 



